


A Recluse in the Garden

by CidyKitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cuddling, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Fred Weasley Lives, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Post War, Post-Hogwarts, Resolved Romantic Tension, Unplanned Pregnancy, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CidyKitty/pseuds/CidyKitty
Summary: Years after the battle Pansy Parkinson has been living as a recluse on her family estate. A routine inspection from the MLE department turns her world upside down.





	1. Act One

_Pansy_

Act One

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pain is immense. She is between fazes now, like being in between sleeping and wakefulness. The waves of pain crash over her, heavier than the waves off of the south of France, where Mother used to take them when Father was having one of his spells. Even Parker, her monster of a little brother, was at peace there. Most of the time, she wishes they had stayed.

These thoughts of happy places don’t help her now, the House Elf is putting a cool, damp cloth over her forehead but it does little to soothe the sweat, she is all but drowning in it. She can smell nothing but the damp musty smell of sweat, the tang of fresh blood is in the air. The Medi-Witch is directing instructions at the nurse, who is looking at Pansy with sympathetic eyes.

The pressure between her legs grows, it surmounts to a blinding, and intense pain. She has not felt pain like this between her legs since that first night, that first time, nearly eight months ago. But it was different then. Because after the pain, came the pleasure, and there is no pleasure at the end of this tunnel.  She can hear the nurse giving her instructions, " _pant, pant pant, push - one good push, pant, pant, pant, pant_ \- " 

She is screaming, it’s not something she is consciously doing, but it is happening all the same. All through the house her voice echo’s – not that it matters, no one is here but her. This is her home, her reality, and the pain is hers to bear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bed is hard beneath her back, the pillows are still soaked with sweat, all blankets have been kicked the floor. There is a pool of something wet, sticky but natural between her legs. The nurse takes a warm cloth from the basin of water and runs it between Pansy’s legs, which makes her feel much better. The Medi-Witch is bent down, giving instructions to Lala, the house elf quivers in excitement.

The baby squirms.

The nurse forces a measure of potion through her lips, says it is a “little something to help her start producing.” She feels though, like she can produce no more, the only strong part of her body is her arms, holding the light weight of the baby in her arms. Seconds after the potion is all the way down her throat her breasts start aching, she knows what she has to do, she has heard about it countless times, knows that it is a woman’s duty, a mother’s responsibility, she brings the baby up to her chest, it roots around, and latches onto her nipple. It hurts at first, a pressure unlike any other, the promise of future soreness, and then it feels natural. The soft suckle and swell of time. The baby drinks perfectly, she takes a shaking hand and wipes milk away from the corner of the baby’s little pink mouth.

Lala is over by the dresser now, bringing over a fresh, warm pressed housecoat and wrapping it around her shoulders, she has forgotten that she is naked, it feels like days since she has last drawn clothing onto her body, though it has only been hours. The moment that she had felt the oncoming birth she had been stripped of her clothes, laid bare before the Medi-witch, the nurse and Lala.

Her easing herself into the housecoat does not stir the baby. Nothing can pull the baby from her breast it seems. She peers down at him, small and perfect he seems to be. If a bit on the round side.

He has perfectly round, flushed and puffy cheeks. His perfect pink lips pucker around her nipple, taking shallow draws from her breast. He has been mostly clean, but she can see pale white skin under what needs to be washed off. He has perfect, half moon shaped finger nails and tiny pale toes. On the top of his head are tufts of black hair, quite like her own. His eyes are half peeked open, but they are foggy and grey and the nurse tells her they will become their natural color here soon. She hopes they are like hers, brown and inky.

He unlatches from her breast and gives a wailing cry. It is shrill and new, and even he seems surprised at the sound. She brings him – sticky, dirty and pale – up to her lips for a kiss. Presses her lips to the indent of his forehead, to the slope of his nose – so like hers – he gazes at her, cry hovering mid mouth, and does nothing.

The nurse and the medi-witch are there for some time afterwards, he is born late afternoon, and by the time Lala shooed them out the floo the moon was high in the sky, she w promises to write and call if needed. And soon, it is just Lala and Pansy, and the baby.

Lala cleans up, she scoops up the dirtied towels, blankets and Pany’s discarded clothes, all while chattering away, Pansy does not stop her. She stares at the baby, which has fallen asleep, tucked his little face into the blanket that she has given him and snoozes, his light breathing sound so soothing to her ears, she watches the sun set across his face, aware of how her thighs are still sticky from fluids, and blood, and how she does not know if she can stand. But she watches heaven on earth, his little heart beating in his chest, she wonders if anything has ever been made so perfect, so pristine to this world.

Lala interrupts this peace to let her know she has drawn the Young Miss a bath, the water is lukewarm and free of bubbles, to keep them from harming the baby’s skin. Lala holds the baby perfectly skill while Pansy steps into the bath. The deep claw footed tub is an ancient plaque in this home, rooted into the old floorboards. Pansy has no anxieties giving Lala the baby, she herself was raised by house elves, she knows they are gentle and maternal creatures. And besides, Lala has cared for her through the worst, she trusts her with her life. Once Pansy is settled into the bath, Lala hands her the baby, he seems to fuse with the warm water, the sides of his lips twitching. He does not cry or fuss. She smooths his hair down with the warm water while Lala scrubs her back, her hair, dumping the cup of water gently down to rid her hair of the smell of sweat and salty tears. She runs a cloth of Pany’s face, lips bitten from pain. She scrubs Pansy’s feet to the tops of her thighs.

“What will young Miss name him?” Lala asks, in her gentle, yet squeaky voice. She thinks it over, runs the water over his rounded, newborn stomach, He looks so like her. But there are traces in there of someone else, his hair has an unprecedented curl to it, his eye brows are furrowed and his forehead is wide. There are hints of a father, in there, somewhere.

But for now he is just hers.

“Henry.”

 

 

 

 

 

Time passes as smooth has the stones along the sides of Hogwarts, that is to say, it is a rough and bumpy thing. Motherhood is tough, tougher than she ever imagined it to be. Which is perhaps, why her mother, in all her waifish fragile ways allowed her children to be raised by Elves and polite strangers.

There are long nights where she stays up with Henry, too stubborn to allow Lala to help, trying to figure out what is wrong with her child. Why he cries though he is full and dry, soon she learns to let Lala in, take the help where she can get it. Still, it is hard. Her nipples are so sore that even the slightest brushing some days can sting her eyes, her body aches in ways that she never knew it could before. The ache between her legs is unpleasant and never ending. She has no time to herself, she takes Henry with her everywhere she goes. He sleeps in the bassinette beside her bed, she lays a soothing had on his back while he rests, to feel his breathing.

During the day, she ties a shawl around herself, secures it with a flick of her wand and takes Henry around the property, tells him about his ancestors who stayed here, about his grandparents. How his Grandfather built the stone cabin for his Grandmother, and she stayed there until her dying day. How the Garden’s are Pansy’s favorite spot. They pick flowers together, he grasps the stems in his chubby hands tries to put the petals in his mouth.

She takes him out further, to the well she used to play in as a child, to the little shed that has goats, cattle and pigs, though she doesn’t take him in there. He is still too small. Her days pass in hazes, the letters she gets go untouched. Lala leaves the house every other day, to visit the Vault, pay the bills, get things for the house. No one knows that Lala is Pansy’s house elf, so she does not get harassed the way that Pansy does, no one gives her sneers as she enters the Apothecary, no one throws raw eggs at her, hexes her on street corners, in many ways, her freedom is much greater than Pansy’s.

But she returns home with toys and new things for the baby.

Henry is an energetic, snuggly baby. He is a chubby, green eyed, happy baby. Who loves his mother in ways that she never imagined any being could.

Most of the letters go untouched. A stack forms by the door, her owl, Kayes – leaves them in a neat stack, that once they get too big Pansy just burns them. They are meaningless. She has no places amongst those crowds anymore but to be a scandal, an outcast, and that she wont do. Still, she sees familiar names on the letter heads, Zabini, Nott, Goyle, Greengrass, Malfoy – they all go unread. There is nothing left to say, they had made their decision already, the figure of their backs turned to her during the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War had been enough to solidify the thoughts that she had already known about herself, that she was alone.

But not anymore.

She had Lala, and baby Henry. And they had recently taken on a part-Kneazle that was beautiful it its loyalty. They were living in such peace, night spent beside the wireless while Lala knit and Pansy taught baby Henry how to crawl. His little hands twisting in the thick rugs she had Lala install into the home. Their peace was so solid, so real, so seemingly permeant. Which was why it was such a surprise when the letter from the Ministry came. It was decorated in the MLE logo, inside a crimson red envelope. It falls neatly on her front porch, delivered by one of the Ministry’s Eagle owls.

It’s a formality really, because they have the means to just, show up. It’s not unheard of, and it’s not like Pansy doesn’t have a contingency plan, but it’s still shocking. If she had been answering her letters she would know that she was next. But still, sitting on the chaise, with Henry at the breast, she is reading the letter, in it’s neat formal script:

 

 

_Dear Ms. Pansy Parkinson_

_Of 2501 Rose Parkway Lane_

_It is the responsibility of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to monitor all potential threats and past Death Eater activity. It is our current knowledge that the previous residents of (2501 Rose Parkway Lane) were current Voldemort supporters and known Death Eaters. It is this department’s duty to ensure the safety of all those in our community and it is the agenda of this Ministry to keep ahead on all possible threats. Due to this, we will be making three month stops into all previously known Death Eater locations and hide-outs to ensure that there are no dark objects or unjustly practices of any kind. Your scheduled appointment will fall at this time on June 1 st, please expect members of our Law Enforcement community to be at your residence sometime between the hours of 8 a.m. and 7 p.m. – please be ready and willing to answer any questions these officers may have, these officers have the ability to search the house in all areas, as well as but are not limited to: The use of Veritaserum, a Pensive, or any other forms of magical detections that they have in their current arsenal. _

_However, you do have rights. If you feel that any of these officers have violated their station in any way, you may file a formal complaint with the head of Wizard Resources Sir Percy Weasley in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement._

_Yours,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 1st

 

Hermione apparated two blocks away from her intended destination. Padma dropped in somewhere beside her and Seamus a little bit behind Padma. They were always to come in threes, Shacklebolt had ordered – it was safest that way. He had taken on a Mad-Eye Moody like paranoia when it came to these visits, not that anything serious had happened in any of the visits.

Sure, Ron had gotten his hand trapped in a enchanted basin at the Malfoys, Dean had almost lost an ear to a bewitched old pearl earring in the Greengrass summer home – both those had been real actual accidents. That was the problem with old, dark houses like these. Even the proper owners had no idea what could possibly be hidden inside of the places where their raised their kids, started their families, had their exclusive parties. Lucius Malfoy had a horcrux in his home for Merlin knows how long, and never even knew.

Kingsley was a good Minister, he was much more vigilant than Fudge, and much more honest than Scrimgeour. The best way to prevent the rise of a new Dark Lord was to rip it at the root. The way Voldemort had risen so easily was that his followers were blind, and the Ministry was blind, all the clues were there, pieces of Voldemort just sitting there waiting to be used. That couldn’t happen again.

So here they were, every three months teams of them made rounds, and they had been fruitful so far. Hundreds of dark objects had been pulled from summer homes, winter cabins, basements, attics and the like. Most of the inhabitants none the wiser. Most of the families more than willing to extend an olive branch of honesty to avoid time in Azkaban.

The walk up to Parkinson Manor was a beautiful one, the cobblestones leading up the manor were glazed in opalescent gloss that made the ground shine, the huge wrought iron gates that surrounded the massive property were flecked in gold leaf. There was a large white barn on the property, white ponies shuffled around, a few fluffy sheep. The house itself was magnificent. A large Greeco-Roman affair, with huge marble columns and gold pillars. The garden surrounding the land was full of large colorful roses, hydrangeas and carnations, the smell of lemon trees were strong.

“It’s beautiful.” Padma said, fluffing her Auror robes. The June heat was stifling already.

“Yeah,” Hermione squint up at it. “It is.”

It made Hermione wonder why, of all places, Voldemort had picked Malfoy Manner for his home – this was more distanced, more beautiful, more grand. But as they inched closer, Hermione started to see why. It was too beautiful, too pure, large windows were on the roof and the side, were one could peer right inside of the home. It was too open.

They warped through the wards and kept walking, right up to the front door. Seamus scooted to the front of them, shooting them both looks over his shoulder as he brought a large pale hand up to the door for a firm knock. They waited.

Hermione looked around, it was almost too beautiful to belong to people who had been Death Eaters, something of a shame.

The door creaked open, first a little – then a lot. Standing in the doorway was a tiny little house elf. She was long snouted, kind of like Dobby, with large bat like ears, large thin feet and large thin hands. She wore a little pink tea towel as a dress, tied like a toga around her shoulders. She had huge brown eyes deep in her face.

Hermione bent down, held a hand out for a shake. The house elf gave a very enthusiastic hand shake to them all, allowing them into the house. The foyer was beautiful, a grand stairs case split the room, large archways led them into the sitting room.

“I am Lala, can Lala get missus and mister a cup of tea?” She was quivering a bit, but not a lot. Little ears vibrating on the top of her head.

“Tea would be good.” Hermione said, The Elf vanished and appeared with a large tray of tea, two pots of exotic smelling tea and a plate of biscuits.

“They is strawberry.” She said, nodding enthusiastically. As they helped themselves, Hermione looked around the home. It didn’t look inherently dark, but that didn’t mean anything. The Greengrass’s didn’t look dark either, but the home had been full of artifacts.

“Where is the mistress?” Padma asked.

Hermione wasn’t all too upset to see Pansy again – after all the last time she had seen her was when she tried to hand Harry over, and then a few fleeting glances after that. But nothing serious, no conversations, no jeers and snarls like when they were in school. Her memories of Pansy made her want to see the woman less and less, but they had business to attend to that couldn’t really happen without Pansy’s say so.

“She is upstairs, she is resting you see, she is ill you see, has bad cold you see.” The House Elf said, ears drooping a bit. “Mistress gives the Auror’s full permission to view the house, look for –“ the elf gulped. “Dark objects.” She whispered.

“The mistress should be up soon.”

The house Elf bowed and drooped out of a sight. And they had free reign of the house, which is unusual. Hermione ordered Seamus down to kitchens, Padma to do the sittings rooms and Hermione was going to start going through the bedrooms. They put their warming coins in to the pockets, they would flair if they were hit by a curse or bewitched. They would do the basements and attics together.

She worked on a room that had obviously belong to a little boy, that must have been Parker. Pansy’s younger brother. They had obviously read the files on the families before coming, this was one of the darker parts. Parker Parkinson had been an apparently disturbed little boy who had passed before he had a slew of incidents that had landed himself in the healers. He had died of a bad cough when he was 12, right before he was set to get his letter. He was one year younger than Pansy.

The room was done in dark blues, and looked like it hadn’t been touched at least a decade. There was a thick layer of dust on everything, it reminded her quite of Regulus Black’s room. There was a twin bed, with a green canopy that had clearly been ripped down a few times.

There were deep scathes on the far wall, but nothing so out of the ordinary. She looked under the bed, in all the dresser drawers and found nothing. An old family ring that looked a bit suspect, she dropped it into the safety pouch and moved on. There were a few guest rooms, that were quickly searched, they too liked they had never been touched.

There was a master bedroom, deep golden sheets, a large mirrored wall. She took from it a few pieces of jewelry, a strange looking hand mirror, and a golden crown that had jewels of what looked like blood in them.

She moved on. There were a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway, without pause she peeked in. She should have known it was going to be Pansy’s room. She pushed the door open without a thought, and paused. Because there was Pansy Parkinson, but she wasn’t looking at her. She was in a hammock swing on the side of the room that overlooked the window. Her hair was long, much longer than it was in school, long and untrimmed. Long bangs, wavy hair that inched down to her waist. Her upturned nose was highlighted by the sun. She was swinging gently, and there was a bundle in her arms.

It was a squirming mass, and with a too loud gasp, she realized that it was a baby. A chubby baby maybe eight or nine months old.

Her gasp was too loud because without a moments notice, Pansy Parkinson turned her head. Her large blue eyes widened in her face, she leapt – gracefully – from the swing and turned to Hermione. She was in nothing but a pink dressing gown, The baby in her arms cried out, probably from being detached from the nipple so abruptly. Pansy fixed the gown to cover her breast.

For a moment, she and Pansy stared at each other – And the baby garbled in Pansy’s arms.

“Y-your elf said you were sick.” She stuttered. Pansy glared at her, face still alight with shock.

“I am.” She hissed, her voice scratchy as if she had been clearing her throat. “you simpleton.”

“Y-you have a baby.” Hermione said, her brain catching up to speed.

“Yes.” She hitched the child farther up on her hip.

“An unregistered wizard chi-“

“He isn’t an animal, he’s my child and I’m not going to parade him around so the Ministry can put labels on him.” The child whimpered in her arms.

“I-I- Pansy …” Hermione eyed the child, heart thumping in her chest. Large pale cheeks, tufts of dark wild hair on his face, large green eyes in his head. “That looks like – it looks like – “

_“Get out, get out, get out, get out!"_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 1st

 

Harry slumped in the bar chair amidst the noise, watching as Ron aimed his dart at the board, he gave his wrist a little flex in a tight circle motion and let it fly, raising his wand to give a boost at the last session, it landed solidly at the edge of the board.

“You’ve got rotten luck mate.” Dean said, his dark cheeks flushed from the alcohol, abandoned shot glasses of Fire Whiskey lay disserted on the table, a few bottles of Butterbeer and good old fashioned mugs of mead, all in all it was a typical Friday night.

Half the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was in the building, the Leaky all but leaning over with the amount of people crammed inside of it. Percy and Ernie – in Wizarding Relations – were over at the bar, sipping glasses of wine. Dean and Ron had overtaken the dart board after Harry had shown them both up, beside Harry, George was throwing back another shot of Fire Whiskey, entranced by Bill’s story about one of the catacombs in Egypt. Neville was being heavily leaned upon by Charlie Weasley, who was flushed in the face and at an all but horizontal  from the Mead. There were a few other familiar faces dotted around the room – Anthony and Michael were by the bewitched Billards table and Pavarti, still with her special Quill had popped in after a long day at The Daily Prophet. Lavender Brown was trying to sell some dangling, gold jewelry to the bar maid.

He took a warm, deep swig of Fire Whiskey, finishing off the shot glass with one fell swoop and joined in to laugh with Bill as Ron’s dart flew overhead, implanting itself on the ceiling.

Like he always used to think in school, at the exact moment that he was going to ask where Hermione was, typically she showed up – so he didn’t usually have to ask. This wasn’t different from then. Before he could even turn to her red-head Fiancée and ask where she was, she showed up. She was still in her Auror robes, though technically she worked for the Department of Mysteries, that department had been bridged with the MLE and they worked together often enough. Her hair was taking over a life of its own, frizzing and sparking out of control, she had no drink, typically she stopped at the counter for a glass of wine first – and her wand was held tightly in her hand. She bypassed Ron, Bill and Ginny, who was engaging in an arm wrestle with Dean.

She walked up to Harry, and before he could issue a hello, she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and began to pull. There were only certain times that she used this amount of force. It meant either his homework was late, or Voldemort was coming. He didn’t know that either of those situations would apply. As they passed Ron he uttered a “Mione’ what..”

She yanked him out the door, the muggy air hit him dead in the face, making him feel like sweat had immediately began to bead upon his forehead. She shoved him into the alley, where a few cats scuttled away and it smelled like vomit and sober up potion.

“Hermione – what – wait – “ Her wand was shoved under his nose, eyes flaring, hair sparking. He had faced Voldemort, death eaters, a large overgrown snake, a Werewolf, Dementors and this was perhaps one of the scariest moments of his life. Ron stumbled out beside them, holding his hands up in a defenseless position.

“What is going on here?” He demanded.

“Harry Potter … you tell me the truth, you tell me the truth right now.” Her breath was warm and minty on his face – her wand jabbed him under his nose. “Christ. Merlin. Hermione, what the fuck?”

“Did you sleep with Pansy Parkinson, yes or no.”

Sweat damped down his back, cold raced through his veins. Images flashed through his mind like clicking through a slide show. Pansy Parkinson, a tiny pink dress made almost entirely of sequins, short, bobbed hair, red lips. A bottle of wine, a strange, apology. A mutual, drunken understanding. An alley way, a pair of slinky black underwear on the ground (that would end up somehow, someway, in his top drawer at home.) Stiletto heels digging into his back, a dab of blood between her thighs, waking up to the smell of expensive perfume, lavender and honey shampoo. And then nothing at all.

He gulped.

“Harry James Potter, you tell me right now, yes or no.” She demanded.

“Why?” He said instead, had she told someone? Had it gotten out? He hadn’t seen or heard from her since, even at the bar that she used to frequent. He figured she had been married off to some fellow Pureblood. And while the thought hadn’t completely sat right with him, it at least made him feel better than to think that she had decided that post sleeping with him she should never show her face again.

“Answer. Me.” She growled.

“Yes.” He blurted. Her hand was stinging weight against the side of his face, Ron yelped.

“Merlin’s Balls, Hermione!” He yelped.

“You moron, you absolute moron.” She screeched.

“What’s this about?” He shouted at her, spitting a bit of blood out of the left side of his mouth. Hermione had a strong right hook.

“You… you..” She began to pace the alley way, pushing Ron’s helping hand away.

“You just punched me in the face,” He snarled. “I think I deserve to know what this is about.”

“Pansy Parkinson had a baby, he’s about eight months old. He looks just like you, Harry.” Hermione said, her voice suddenly soft and less prodding. He nodded, nodded some more, felt about the space around him for support and then promptly vomited.

It seemed fitting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**June 11 th **

 

 

 

Pansy yawned, stretched in her bed. Her muscles popped deliciously, there was a tenseness in her body that had been eased out overnight, a long bath, a good meal and a decent nights rest had done that for her.

It had been a whole week.

It had been a whole week and neither Potter, nor any of his golden little friends had shown up to confront her, the MLE had left her home all but untouched and the anxiety that had built up since the first of the month had slowly dwindled down to a smooth simmer. The fear that Granger had produced had dwindled.

She and Henry were safe.

She spent the following days after the intrusion reinforcing the wards, giving Lala strict instructions on what to do if someone tried to come to take Henry, where to go and what to grab.

A small, garbled noise came from beside her.

Henry was awake. Large green eyes glittering in his head at her, a slobbery smile on his lips. He was grasping at her pajamas, giving her that soft baby smile. She hefted him up on to her chest, up again and down he gifted her with a beautiful symphony of baby giggles. She nuzzles her nose against his, pecking his face with a series of kisses.

There is nothing to compare this feeling to, no joy in her life as great as this. Nothing that makes the butterflies that had laid dormant in her heart for so long flutter to life, beat against her ribs and leaves her with ghosts of smiles on her lips.

She wonders how her Mother, so fragile, became so cold to the feel of a babies breath on her face, of the warmth of a small body curled next to hers in the middle of the night, how ever new step, crawl and gurgle is a new adventure. How did her mother become so desensitized to this feeling of utmost joy, peace, serenity. Where did it go wrong?

She fears, sometimes, that she may end up like her. With two distant children – one a simpering girl with a tongue of a steel, and the other, a demon like boy, with no peace in his life but torturing animals and -  on occasion – his sister.

But she looks at Henry, with his flushed cheeks, vibrant eyes, mountains of curls on his head, and knows that she is doing right. She gets out of bed, takes him with her. He nuzzles against her chest, eager for breakfast. She gets them both into the tub, he loves the water, the bubbles, he splashes while she tame his hair, sits on her thighs while she runs the bar of oatmeal soap down his back. These are moments she would kill for.

After the bath, they dress. He is a blue, patterned onesie with a pair of soft navy blue trousers on. She slips into a white cotton dress, something airy and light to go for a walk in. She is going to head down the stairs, her breasts are starting to ache with the need to empty them. They trot down the first set of stairs, he is waved at by a few portraits on the wall, the portrait of her Great Grandmother blows him kisses and he mimics the motion back. 

His little mouth opens in a babble, “Mama, mama, mama,mama, mama”

This is a new development, sometime in the last couple of weeks he has began to form words, mostly Mama and Lala, and Pansy doesn’t care if they are the only words he ever speaks, for they are beautiful coming from his mouth.

They are just about the bound down the second flight, toward the foyer, when they hear a commotion. Pansy stops, feels her Wand strapped to her thigh, grips it tight.

“I is sorry Mister, but Mistress permits no visitors.” Lala is screeching, Pansy can’t see through the Front Door because Lala has it opened only a fraction of an inch, she also can’t hear the voice of the person who has come to the door, so unannounced.

“No, Lala cannot allow the Mister to Enter.” The little house elf stamps her foot. With dread, pooling like spilled ink her stomach she inches down the stairs. Henry’s little babble in her ear.

“I is sorry, I –“ Lala is being pushed back a bit, someone pushing their way in the door. “I beg your pardon!” Her house elf was screeching.

“Lala.” Pansy called. “That’s enough. Let them in.” She grips her wand in her free hand, and Henry being held to her left side. Lala looks over at her, big eyes watery. Pansy smiles, and nods her assurance even if she is curling with fear inside. She knows that if someone tries to hurt her, or Henry, Lala will help.

Lala lets the door open just a little, and then a lot. And he steps through.

Her heart leaps, soars, then plummets.

Harry Potter is in her foyer.

 

 

 

He is in a pair of dark muggle jeans, that are a little baggy around the waist. And a jumper. It is red, with a golden snitch etched into it. It looks like a Weasley creation.

His left hand is in his hair, his right is gripping tight to the hair on his head. He looks disheveled, but handsomely so. His face looked like he could use a good shave, his hair was a bit too long, his glasses were crooked on his face. Remarkably like he did the last time she saw him.

She is nothing like the last time he saw her, she is rounder, softer, fuller – she has a baby on her hip, she can’t say she is the same wanton mulling girl that she was in that bar.

Henry squirms in her arms, she reminds herself that she is just about to feed him. Her breasts ache again.

“Lala, make Mr. Potter some breakfast. Whatever he’d like. I’m going to go feed Henry. Okay?” She makes eye contact with her house elf, who is no longer quivering. She is standing brave in little pink dress with a mission to do. She knows that if Potter steps a toe out of line, Lala will push him back.

She swoops away. She is surprisingly calm, where she thought her heart would be racing in her chest it was calm, her hands were not clammy as she pushed Henry and herself into her room to feed him.

When he is full and happy the sense of calm has not left her, she dresses herself out her robe. In a pair of dark navy trousers, a loose blouse. She leaves her feet bare. She scoops a sleepy, doleful Henry from the bed and takes him downstairs – it’s about time for his walk. At the bottom of the stairs she summons the Pram with a flick of her wand, she sets Henry down in it, wraps the blanket around him and makes her way to the dining room.

The windows are open, sunlight is beaming on the marble floors, the white rug looks like a fluffy cloud. There is a mountain of hot cakes, a warm jug of syrup. There is a steaming pile of sausages and bacon, crisp. Her mouth waters.

Potter sits at the head of the table, the gall of the man, and was shoving food in his face. He had a bit of syrup stuck on his top lip, He has a linen napkin tucked in his shirt.

“Lala – “ She calls, Potter looks up at her over his glasses. “Please take Henry outside to the garden, he’s getting a bit sleepy.” Lala shuttles over to the Pram, takes it by the handles and steers him out.

Pansy heads down the table, she pulls over a chair closest to the window and put some hotcakes on her plate. Potter shuffles in his seat, she looks up to see him pulling a smoke out, she feels an aching in her throat – she craves cigarettes these days, but she refuses to smoke while Henry is still at the breast. There is a pot of tea on the table, she helps herself, pours a bit of cream in it, adds two cubes of sugar and blows on it.

Potter is still shoving food in his face, looking down the table at her.

“Is he mine?”

He breaks the silence, the smell of rich cigarettes, sweet coffee and warm maple syrup in the air.

“Is it nice out?” She asks, cutting a small piece of her hotcake off and putting it in her mouth, Lala made the best ones.

“Does it matter?” He asks, his tone is jovial, cheerful, but the tenseness in his shoulders says of a different story. There is a tight line of his shoulder. She recognizes it.

“Henry rather likes it outside, loves butterflies. And we have a little bundle of baby bunnies in the garden, I think he’ll love them.” She scrapes her fork around her plate, picking up a bit off sausage.

“So we’re going to play a game then?” He asks, scoffs. “You didn’t seem like the type to play games.”

“I don’t. This isn’t a game Potter, this is real life.” She says, her own mouth tightening, her voice with some steel.

“And in this real life, you have my son. Christ Pansy, where you not ever going to say anything?” The ridged position of his body is furious, there is a wafting in the air, a strong magic.

“I didn’t think it was really any of your business. Last I heard you were settling in with the Weasley girl and were soon to be popping out little red head babies, Henry and I get on fine on our own, he wants for nothing.” She hisses at him.

“Ginny and I haven’t dated since Hogwarts, even before the battle we knew there was nothing between us. If you had just talked to me, you know that. And besides all of that, if Ginny and I were together, that boy is still my son, and I still deserve to be in his life.”

She gives up on the food, and goes right for the tea. Wishing that she wasn’t still nursing so she could help herself to a glass of something stronger.

“Well, one can’t undo the past – “

“That’s all you’re going to say!” He roars, he stands, his presence booms into the room. He slams his fists upon her mothers ancient oak table. “You – You have kept my flesh and blood from me, my own son, you think when he was older he wouldn’t ask after me, what about when he went to Hogwarts or – “

“That’s enough!” Her own anger boiled over. “You have no idea, not a single idea of what this has been like for me. You think I could have strut out with him on my arm? Do you know what people say to me? Do you know what they think of me? I can’t even get a potion, people think I – I –“ She trailed off. “I am not going to let the same happen to my baby, my son.” To her embarrassment she felt a wave of tears crash over her, they stung at her eyes.

“This had nothing to do with you Potter.” She told her tea cup. “It has everything to do with me protecting my baby. Any child of yours would be thrust into the spotlight, and then who knows what they would say about me.”

She can hear him move, the sound of his feet on the rug, his jeans rubbing together, the chair next to her pulls out.

“I’m sorry Pansy. This isn’t a fair situation for all of us. Henry included.” He says, with a little force. “But we can make it right. I know that you don’t know me that well, and I barely know you. Because we are different people than we were in school, we are adults now and we have a son now. Do you think I’ll let anything happen to my son? Do you think I would let anything happen to the mother of my child?”

“I think you would let something happen to me.” Pansy corrected, a horribly swelling feeling growing in her throat.

“Pansy…”

“We slept together once Potter, just the once.. that doesn’t mean that somehow all of our past has been erased… what I’ve done … “

“What you’ve done Pans-“

“I was an awful school girl I’ll admit that Potter.” She said, bringing a shaking tea cup to her painted lips.  “Some of it was for survival, some of it was just.. me. But that day, the battle.. I turned you over. I turned you over in the face of everyone who walks the streets today, and everyone knows it.” She said.

“Christ.” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Christ Pans. That was ages ago..”

“It doesn’t seem to matter.” She snapped, “It doesn’t seem to matter that I was a foolish, tired girl who was scared for her family, and her friends, who just wanted the fighting to end.” She choked, “And I’ll be punished for it for the rest of my life.” She took a scalding sip of her tea.

A warm hand, much larger than hers and covered in a mess of scars gently laid itself upon her leg, the nails were trimmed tight but there was a bit of dirt under the middle one, there were darkened marks between the thumb and pointer finger that indicated a few years of smoking. The width of the hand nearly took up the entire width of her thigh.

“That was ages ago. Ages. We are all different people in times of war. No one will blame you – no one good, no one right – will blame you for what you did. If I was you I would have tried to turn me over too. And whatever happened in the past Pansy, whatever people we were in school, we’re not those people any more. And more than that, we’re parents now Pansy.” He said.

“I know that, I’ve known that for much longer than you have.”

“I know. Pansy.. I grew up without a Dad, without a Mum too but also, a Dad. I don’t want any child of mine to go without me.” He said. “I wont let any child of mine go without me. So we’re at a crossroads here.”

Pansy mulled the words around her head, tumbed them through her ears let them dance through her soul to find the right answer.

“I see no crossroads Potter. I suppose we’re stuck with you now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They found Henry and Lala in the gardens, Henry was squirming in the Pram and Lala was making the little Sir a wreath of flowers. They came around the edge of the garden wall and Lala lept to her feet, ears touching the ground in such a low bow.

“Lala, none of that. If you don’t mind I’d like to Introduce you to this man, this is Sir Harry Potter. And … we’ll be seeing quite a bit of him, I’m sure. You can call him Harry.” She introduced. “Potter, this is my lovely house elf Lala. She has served my family since I was born and is one of the primary caretakers of Henry.”

With the introductions made she stepped over to the Pram, where her chubby baby boy gave a little grin at her. There were little white caps in his mouth that made her ache with the feeling of lost time, he was growing so fast, and yet was so little. With a nod at Lala, the little house elf left the gardens, more than likely to finish knitting blankets and left she and Potter in the garden with her son.

She removed him from pram, her hand cradling his neck burying her nose in the tufts of black hair upon his head. She down on the bench, it was the same bench that her mother had spent her mornings and afternoons, staring into the pasture at the sheep and cattle. Pansy hoped to never turn into a mother like her. She used her other hand to pat the bench next to her, a place for Potter to sit.

“Alright then. Harry meet Henry, Henry, this is your …. Dada.. Harry.” She said. She turned Henry on her lap so that his legs dangled over and he faced Harry. Their green eyes meeting in contact. She didn’t dare look at Harry’s face so instead she kept a steady on Henry’s. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was askew he was -

 _“Perfect.”_ Potter whispered hoarsely.

“Yes. Well. Did it myself so I’m quite proud of him.” She said. Hefting him closer to her chest when he began to squirm.

“What was it like?” Potter asked, reaching out with a hesitant hand to stroke the back of her baby’s curled fist.

“What was what like?”

“The birth.”

She squirmed, “That’s a bit of a personal question, Potter.”

He let out a snort, “Indulge me.”

She sighed, thinking back to that long and beautiful day.

“It was beautiful. It was horrible. My contracts started early that morning, but I thought it was back pains, by the time my water broke the pain was immense. We had a medi-witch and midwifery nurse. The labor took hours, there was so much .. blood and other .. ghastly fluids.. And finally, after thirteen or so hours he came, screaming into the world.” She said.

“But you were alone.”

“I wasn’t alone, I had Lala.” She said. Thinking fondly of her little pink clad house elf.

“But no mother, no friends…”

“No. I have no mother, and no friends. It’s just me here.” Henry squirmed heavily in her arms.

“Would you care to hold him?” She asked. Without waiting for a response from him she shifted Henry from her arms into his, taking Potter’s hand and placing it upon the baby’s back, letting Henry grasp at the end of Potters shirt.

Compared to being in her own arms, in Harry’s – Henry looked positively tiny. He gurgled a bit before reaching forward and tugging at Harry’s face and his glasses.

“Sorry. He can be grabby.” Pansy went to grab Henry and take him but Harry shifted away from her.

 

 

“No. He’s fine, I don’t mind.” Harry leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Henry,

 

 

“Hello little man, I’m your daddy.”


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy makes her first public appearance in 3 years.

August 1st 

Pansy gave herself a pep talk as she edged to corner into The Ministry, the pram was shiny and beautiful as Lala had spent the night polishing it, she was wearing some of her newer clothes – a pair of black straight trousers, a sleek pair of heels and a turtle neck top. Her hair, much longer than it ever should have gotten – was pulled back into a tedious little bun at the base of her neck held together with a jeweled clip that had belonged to some ancestor or another. 

Since it had been so long since she had been out of the house, nearing almost a full year now – she hoped that most everyone wouldn’t recognize her. She would have sent Lala, but there were errands that she couldn’t pass on, things that needed her own signature and the such. Like registering her baby. She shuttered. 

She warily eyed people behind the wholly unnecessary large round sunglasses that were upon her face. Henry squirmed in his pram again, looking wholly upset at this new environment. It was quite loud, much louder than he was used to. He was sat up in his pram wide green eyes trying to catch glimpses through the veil of the pram.   
She forged ahead. 

Tucked in the back corner was a set of elevators so she headed that way, passing what must be a new installation in the Ministry, a statue of someone so familiar that her heart raced. It was Potter, wand in hand, hair waving back from his face and across from him was the snake, the evil himself, his billowing robes perfectly recreated in black marble. Between them was the beam that had lit up the court yard that day, red meets green, the pouring off of extra energy. The plaque on the bottom read, in tight little carved letters,

 

“The Final Battle.” She blinked. Walked away. 

 

Her heels made confident sounds on the floors that she herself lacked at the moment, she shuffled into the elevator with a few other fellows, a red head that made her push herself back into a corner – just in case. She pushed for her floor and felt the elevator give a jolt. It seemed to upset Henry as he let out a little cry, “Mama, mama, mama” He cried. She couldn’t hold him, couldn’t take him out, people would see. So she settled for leaning her head in through the mesh of the pram to give him an encouraging look, kissing the tip of his nose and forehead, he gave her a toothy little smile and shoved the cold gummy toy back into his mouth. He was nearing his first birthday now, she though wistfully. 

 

They arrived with a jolt at their floor and she inched between the people to get out, making her way down the halls. Little purple slips of paper fluttered here and about as she made her way to the registry. 

The desk was being manned by a slightly familiar brunette in pink robes. Pansy wrinkled her nose, pushed her glasses up higher and dinged the bell at the desk. The woman had been writing quickly with a quill on one of the purple slips of paper. 

“One moment.” She directed, not looking up. Pansy huffed under her breath and looked around. There was an office behind the registry desk, with one door propped open. The name outside the door made her cringe. She wanted to go back to the manor and curl up in the pastures, she wanted to read in her room, she wanted to listen to old records, she wanted to do anything but this. But she had promised. Oh, all the promises. 

“Alright then, baby, elf, or otherwise?” The woman asked, still not looking up at Pansy. 

“Pardon?” She asked, flinched a bit at how hoarse her voice sounded. She didn’t do much talking these days. 

“For registering. Are you registering a human or another magical creature, we have to ask.” Pansy didn’t want to know, or even ask, so instead she just cleared her throat. 

“Baby.” 

“Alright then.” The woman presented her with a scroll attached to a clip board and a quill and ink. “Fill out this form and then we’ll get you all registered when are you due?” Finally the brunette looked up from her post, she blinked and blinked some more. Pansy was there, flat stomached with a pram. Finally a name connected with the face. Bell. Katie Bell. 

“Oh. Newborn?” She asks. 

Pansy purses her lips. “No. He’s nearing one now.” She said. 

“I’m sorry – I – I okay.. usually, ma’am, a mother comes to register the baby before he was born. I’ve never done this before. So, can I get your name please?” 

“Parkinson. Pansy.” She says. The woman’s mouth drops, it obnoxious really, Pansy thinks. She peaks the glasses up so the woman can see her eyes before settling them on her nose again. “This is baby Henry… Parkinson…” She said. They hadn’t talked about that yet. Potter had just been adamant that his son be registered. 

“Oh. Oh my, okay, one moment I’m going to get my superior and see if she knows how we should handle this. One moment.” Katie Bell stood from her chair and pushed into the office, Pansy fought the urge to gnaw at her fingernails. 

From inside the office emerged Katie and following her, Granger. Pansy felt her lip curl up almost as if in an instinct. Granger looked good in respectable navy blue robes.   
“Granger.” Pansy greeted, forcing her voice into a cordial tone. She wanted to snarl at the woman, for this was all her fault. Her and Potter, really. 

“Pansy. Good to see you.” 

“I thought you were in the Department of Mysteries.” She said. Potter had shared some things, in their nights in the garden with Henry. Typically it was about the MLE, some newer practices and his day to day life, how he manages his house elf and what was going on with him and his golden little friends. This had come up. 

“I go where I’m needed. I started the magical creature registration here, just to make sure that they were being treated properly. My main office is up here.” She says. Its wholly too much information and Pansy just wants to disapparate with Henry and never step foot out of the house again. 

“Now lets get this baby registered.” She has some papers in her hand, and with a guiding arm she leads them into her office and she shuts the door. The office is nice enough. The windows show a sunny outside, there are framed pictures about of her parents, one that doesn’t move. Her friends. A picture of her wedding with Weasley, lots of red heads waving in that one. 

Pansy sits delicately in the chair as Granger goes around to her side of the desk. 

“Alright. Name?” 

“Henry Matthew Parkinson.” Granger looks up from under her eye lashes. 

“Matthew?” 

“My fathers name.” 

“Parkinson? Is Harry okay with that?” Granger asks, a brow raised. Pansy feels her hackles rise. Who is this woman to question her own decisions about her son. 

“It hasn’t been discussed, but he’s my son. I can decide what his last name is.” She says, tense between her teeth. 

“Actually. Pansy. It’s wizardling law that the child must take the last name of the father, as ancient and patriarchal as it is, it’s true.” She says. Pansy grinds her teeth together, anger flushing across her face and neck. 

“Fine. Henry Matthew Potter.” She spits out. 

“Good. Age?” 

“He’ll be one come October 1st.” Pansy danced her fingers in her lap. Her breasts were beginning to ache. It was almost time to feed Henry. 

“Alright. I know Harry’s occupation what would you classify as yours?” 

“I’m a stay at home mother, caretaker to my homes.” She says. 

“Alright, and do you plan to school Henry publicly or privately?” 

“He’ll be schooled at home with me.” She says. Granger’s head snaps up like her hair has been pulled, her fingers are white around her quill. 

“Pansy…” She says, her tone consists of something to do with a warning. 

“Next question please.” 

“You can’t home school him Pansy, how will he learn to be with other people? To socialize?” 

“He doesn’t need other people, he has me and he has Lala.” She says. 

“That’s not enough and you know it, you can be a recluse all you want but don’t make your child suffer just because you don’t want to come outside. Send him to Hogwarts.” Granger’s tone was rising, she was getting that indignant flush that Pansy had seen so many times at school. 

“I don’t need your advice on what to do with my child. He’ll go where I take him, he’s safe at home with me. You’re supposed to be registering him now do your job.”   
“No. Henry needs to go to school Pansy. He’s already probably missing out on socialization, I read in a book –“ 

“Granger I swear to Merlin….” 

“Pansy! Just because you had a horrible time at school making other people feel horrible doesn’t mean that Henry is going to turn out the same way. Hopefully he has enough Harry in him to make him a decent human being.” Granger snapped. 

Pansy felt ice run down her spine. Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. There was a burning rage in her stomach, make her hands tremble. She stood up, rocking the chair back in the process. 

“You stay away from me, and you stay away from my family. You don’t know me, and you don’t know Henry.” She pushed the Pram away, using her wand she pushed the door open and marched past the front desk and down the hall. She could hear the scuffle of feet behind her, Granger just didn’t know when to quit. 

“Pansy!” She was screaming. Pansy flushed, having someone scream her name in public would do nothing but draw attention to her. She forged forward, if she could just make it to the elevator.. 

“Pansy!” She shouted again. Pansy pushed faster.

“Pansy?” This voice was different. She came to an immediate stop. Through her angry tears and sunglasses she could make out Potter, in his dark red regulation Auror robes. Beside him was a tall Irishman, Seamus and a familiar lanky red head behind them. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked. Pansy shuffled. Her hands were bone white on Henry’s pram. 

“I’m registering him. Like you wanted.” She said, between clenched teeth. Out of breath, beside them Granger appeared. 

“Harry you have to do something, she wants to home school Henry!” Granger pushed out in a rush. Her readheaded husband coming to her side to place a large hand on her shoulder. 

“What? What’s going on we just went out to get some lunch.” Harry said, holding up a brown paper bag. “Pansy what’s she on about?” 

“She has objections as to where and how I want to educate my baby, and I don’t think that’s any of her concern.” Pansy snapped. To her horror she felt a cool trickle beneath her breasts, and the ache grew to a throb. She was leaking. Like a fucking cow in the middle of the Ministry for Magic in front of all these bloody Gryffandor’s. Hot tears of anger, shame and frustration rolled out from beneath her sunglasses against her hot cheeks. She drew one arm away from the pram and pressed them into her chest. 

“I-I-“

“Pansy. Christ. Come on, to my office. Ron, take Hermione .. somewhere. I’ll take care of this.” With one hand on her arm and one on the pram Harry led them down the opposite hall. They went through a pin of cubicles, lots of little lavender notes everywhere. She just watched her feet. She didn’t want to see the people staring at her. Knowing her. Judging her. 

Harry’s office was at the back of the room, there was a single wooden door that had a welcome mat at the base of it. He pushed through and shut the door, he had a large oak desk that was dominated by unorganized stacks of paper, a few wooden frames here and there and a pile of broken quills. 

There was a slightly torn up oversized olive green chair in the corner. That’s where he led her. Henry was beginning to whimper. Without thinking of Potter or where she was or what was going on. She yanked her shirt over her head, unstrapped her bra which was sticking embarrassingly to her skin and pulled Henry from the pram. She barely felt when Potter placed his dark red auror cloak over her shoulders. 

With little dignity she ran her fingers under her eyes, catching mascara tinted tears that tried to escape. Potter sat on the floor in front of her, knees folded up. 

“Christ. Merlin. Pansy what’s going on?” 

“I didn’t want to come here Potter, I didn’t and now look?” She sniffled. Pressing her face into Henry’s hair. 

“What happened?” 

“I went to register him, like you wanted and Granger and her judging.. I just want to best for Henry. He should be home, with me. And then I started leaking, I just..” Harry sighed, ran a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. 

“Pansy. Hermione didn’t mean any harm, I know she didn’t. But we can’t homeschool Henry. He needs to be with other children. To explore his potential, you know that. You have twelve years to be with him before any letters from any schools come.” Harry shifted forward, so that he could brush a hand over Henry’s little foot. “I didn’t know you … leaked..”

“It’s when I can’t get him to the breast fast enough, the milk just comes whether I want it to or not.” 

“Well it’s natural. And no one could tell. Please, stop crying.” She traced her fingers underneath her eyes, checking them to make sure there were no smudges. Harry wrangled Henry from her breast and began the process of bouncing and burping as Pansy made herself presentable again. She ran her wand over her shirt, drying it. She shuffled her blouse back on and sat back, breathing deeply in the chair. She watched, twisting her sunglasses in her lap, as Harry bounced the child on his broad shoulder, Henry laughing and burping, he would end up with spit up on him if he wasn’t careful. 

“I’m not normally this emotional.” She started, finger itching and twisting for a cigarette. She wouldn’t smoke though. The most she got now was the occasional waft from Harry’s own smoke. 

“We knew this wasn’t going to be easy.” He said, he leaned back against his desk, Henry cradled in his arms. 

“Harry.. I can’t.. this is too much, our life is fine the way it is. Can’t we wait –“ 

“Waiting wont help Pans.” She never game him permission to call her that, but he does anyway. “Waiting is just putting off the inevitable. He’s going to get a letter one day, and he’s going to go to school and hear nothing but confliction about his parents.” He said. She watched the way his forest eyes gently roved over Henry’s face as it grew tired and puckered. “That’s how I learned about my parents. But at least he would have us to come home to, to send letters to, but he deserves better than that.” 

Pansy stretched her legs, examined the blunt bottom of her heel and stood. 

“Then I suppose I’ll need to go finish wont I?” She held her hands out for him, to place him back in the pram. 

 

 

 

“Why don’t I just come with you – “   
“And cause a scene – “   
“It wouldn’t be causing a scene if – “  
“This whole thing is a circus, Potter. People see us together..”   
“People are going to see us together Pansy! We’re Henry’s Parents!”   
“For Merlin’s sake – “   
“I’m coming.” 

 

 

 

 

Granger’s office looked the exact same but it was certainly busier than before. Henry laid snoozing in his covered Pram, Pansy sat in the seat she had before – gone cold already from her abrupt departure, Harry sat next to her, rubbing the bridge between his nose like it was the cure for paternal stress. She had no sympathy for him.   
Granger herself was back behind her desk, hair a bit frazzled, navy robes still mostly in place. Her lanky, red headed husband was in the chair in the corner. Eyes wide, taking in what Pansy knew to be a dramatic scene. Take two of a failed production. 

“Okay.. I’m going to start the form over if you don’t mind.” 

Pansy made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. 

“Alright then, name of the child?” 

“Henry Matthew Potter.” She examined her nails with great interest. She would have Lala manicure them.

“Age?” 

“One, come October 1st.” 

“Your occupation?” 

“Mother.” 

“You have no income coming into the house?” Granger asked, tapping the quill. 

“I’m from old money.” She said, dryly. A snort came from the corner of the room. 

“And it’s enough money that Henry is properly provided for without any incoming money from an occupation?” 

“More than enough, he’ll live and die a wealthy man.” She said. She watched as Granger’s brow tick. She forgot how fun it was to get the girl up in a tizzy. 

“Weren’t your assets seized by the ministry?” This came from her husband. 

“No they were not, Mister Auror. I’m sorry - why is here?” She asked. 

“Pansy…” Harry warned. Pansy silenced herself. 

“No assets were seized because neither my parents nor myself were Death Eaters.” She said. “They had no contact with The Dark Lord.” 

“No provable contact.”

“That’s correct.” She took in Henry’s sleeping face. He looked remarkably like Harry then. 

“And his education?” 

“He’ll go to Hogwarts when his letter comes.” Harry answered for her. She kept her lips pinched tight together. 

“And before then? The ministry provides and early childhood program to get them socialized and – “ 

“That’s up to Pansy.” Harry said, Pansy looked over at him, and found him looking at her. His scarred, pale hand resting on the arm rest of her chair. 

“I’ll have to … look into it.” Pansy said, with some difficulty. Potter gave her a half smile. 

“And his permanent residence is with you?” Granger asked her, looking pointedly away from Harry’s hand on her chair. 

“For now, we haven’t worked that out yet.” Henry has yet to be over to Harry’s and they haven’t discussed him going over there. Harry’s home was a historical landmark in the wizarding community. The hidden Grimmauld place. Where the order planned the destruction of The Dark Lord and saved the wizarding community, or something of that effect. All Harry has said about it is that it’s dark, taken care of by a strange house elf and ‘needs work’ before a baby can come close to it. 

“Alright. Health status?” 

“Very healthy baby.” 

“No colds, coughs, or anything that need to be looked at?” Granger asked. 

“No.” 

“When was his last wellness checkup with a wizard physician?” 

“He’s never had one. The midwife who delivered him comes and checks upon my health and his.” 

“And who is this midwife and how may I contact her?” 

“She’s privately employed by my family. There is no need to contact her.” 

“How many private employee’s do you have?” Granger asked, her voice up a notch. 

“Is this still part of the registration process?” 

“As a matter of fact it is, I know you have an unregistered house elf and any other employees you may have, magical creature or otherwise need to be accounted for.” Her voice was sharp. 

“In the event that I go dark and you need to question everyone in contact with me.” It wasn’t a question, it was just a directed statement. She tensed. It was full of bad ideas to come here, greater still to expect any kind of rational sympathy or understanding. 

A warm presence covered her leg, Harry’s hand, scarred and rough laid on her thigh. 

“She has a house elf and the midwife and no one else.” He spoke for her. “I’ve met the midwife, she’s qualifying. Henry and Pansy are in perfect health.” Granger looked at her friend, her brown eyes softening upon impact. Henry shuffled in his pram unhappily. Pansy hefted him out as his eyes fluttered open. 

“Hand him here.” Pansy passed him to Harry, who held him close to his chest.

The baby began his babbling ‘mama mama mama mama Lala Lala Lala.’ 

“It’s so strange seeing you hold a baby.” Granger said, from behind the desk. Her eyes focused on Harry and Henry, whose grabby fingers were pulling at Harry’s robes and brushing his rough chin. 

“It was strange to me at first, but now it’s right. Everything’s right Hermione. I know you’re nervous but I trust Pansy with Henry… with my life.. This is hard for her.” 

“Potter – “ She went to cut him off, these people didn’t need to know their business. 

“We want to keep this as quiet as possible. I know you have to put him on the daily registration but advertising him could put him or pansy in danger. We don’t want to draw any necessary attention to ourselves, especially now as we’re still working out the logistics. You’re going to have to work with us Hermione.” Harry said. Granger set her quill down, and rubbed at the space between her eyebrows. She could do with a wax. 

“I’ll work with you Harry, you know I will.” 

 

And so it was. 

 

For awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!   
> This is in-beta'd all the mistakes are mine, and of course I own none of these beautiful characters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as far as I can tell there will be two parts to this. Please comment and let me know what you think. Also I don't have a beta so all the mistakes are mine. This is my first PUBLISHED Harry Potter fanfiction and I hope everyone liked it. 
> 
> Thank you!


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